


Paternity Suit

by Glassdarkly



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Female Protagonist, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darla needs a man for a job, and only Spike will do. A pity he doesn't seem to be interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paternity Suit

**Author's Note:**

> AU from _The Gift_ in BtVS season 5 and _Heartthrob_ in AtS season 3.

It had taken a week or two to track him down, London nightlife being what it was, and by the end she'd seen enough bars and clubs to last her a dozen un-lifetimes, not to mention grown sick of the taste of drug-tainted blood. 

But finally there he was, a glimpse of neon-white hair in the flickering strobe light, part of the surging sea of movement that passed for dancing these days. He wasn't wearing much, just torn jeans and some kind of shiny, sleeveless vest thing. Clubbing gear, she supposed. He had his bare arms around some girl, grinding into her from behind in a pantomime of sex, both of them strung out and sweat beaded. Even from her perch on the mezzanine, she could see their dilated pupils. 

This was going to be easier than she'd thought. 

Getting across the dance floor to him took a while. Every time she drew close, the crowd would surge again – a cresting wave breaking – and wash him further away. Still, at least the bleach-job meant she could keep him in sight. 

At last, just when she began to despair of ever reaching him, he pulled the girl out of the crowd. The girl - a small, delicate blonde, nothing like Dru at all - was staggering, on the point of passing out. She would have fallen if not for his arm around her waist. 

When he turned abruptly to one side and pulled the girl down a dark corridor near the chill-out room, she smiled to herself. Maybe he wasn't quite as out of it as she'd thought. And maybe he might be willing to share.

But when she followed him, the sight that met her eyes wasn't what she'd expected. Yes, he had the girl pinned to the wall, one hand fumbling under her skirt while he mouthed her neck, but he was still in human face and what's more, he was mumbling into the girl's sweaty flesh and crying. She could smell the tears. 

The girl was already struggling. Any minute now and she'd be screaming for help. 

"I see the years haven't made you any less pathetic, William." Tearing the girl from his grip, she sank her fangs in deep, the terrified, choking squeals like music in her ears. 

He stared at her, face wet, mouth hanging stupidly open. She rolled her eyes and drank her fill – drank until the girl's skin was cold and clammy and her flailing arms hung limply, like wet string. Sated, she pushed the body towards him. "Here. Finish her off."

He caught the near-corpse and held it to his chest, staring at it like he didn't know what to do with it, then let it drop to the floor. Its head hit the ground with a satisfying crack of bone. 

"Darla?" he slurred. "S'you. What're you doin' here?" His eyes drifted down her body, and to her irritation, she found herself dropping her arms to obscure her distended belly. 

He sniggered. "Someone's knocked you up."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" She felled him with a right hook to the jaw, picked him up and slung him over her shoulder. Stepping over the dying girl, she carried him out into the sticky London night. A light summer rain was falling, driving scantily clad revellers from the streets. Thunder growled in the distance.

*

The storm was right overhead. Lurid flashes of lightning revealed all the secrets of the hotel room's dark corners – balls of dust, odd stains on the tired old carpet, and the drained corpse of its previous occupant kicked carelessly off the bed. The claps of thunder were so loud they made the old building shake.

She'd laid him out on the bed in the corpse's place and taken a good, hard look at him in the flickering half-light. True, he was too thin by far, like he'd forgotten how to feed, and heroin chic was very much not her thing, but there was still muscle under the pale, wasted flesh, and his face….

Well, her taste ran to more rugged looks, but with the sculpted features and the white curls, he'd grown up pretty, she had to grant him that. Not that his looks mattered one way or the other, but it made things a little more palatable. 

His eyelids fluttered open. Blue eyes drowned in dark pupils blinked at her in surprise. 

"Fuck!" he said. " _Is_ you, innit? Thought I was seein' things. But you're real." His eyes did the downward drift again. "You really up the duff, or just fat?"

She smiled at him with mock sweetness.

"You say the nicest things, William."

He'd flared his nostrils, tasting her scent. "I don't get it. Dru told me she sired you again, and you're still a vampire, but you don't smell right. This some hangover of you turning human?" He sat up abruptly, then groaned and clutched his head. "Bloody hell! Did you have to hit me so hard?"

She took the cue – distract him, and deflect those awkward questions. Crawling into his lap, she seized his mouth with hers and kissed him hungrily. "Sorry, William. I didn't know how else to make you listen."

He snorted. "Sod _that_. And it's Spike now." But she could feel his interest poking her in the thigh. 

It took a while to get him going – side effect of whatever he'd ingested at the club– but there wasn't a man living or otherwise who could resist her forever. She had him where she wanted him at last, splayed beneath her, thrusting upwards leisurely. What's more, he seemed fascinated with her belly, cupping its curve in his palm. 

"Feels nice," he slurred. " _You_ feel nice." 

When he came, she was careful to shout his name aloud, then was taken by surprise when strong hands grabbed her hips and she felt a rough tongue cleaning up his mess. She climaxed, grinding herself into his face. 

Nice to know he'd remembered those long-ago lessons. 

Afterwards, he slipped back into unconsciousness, her stickiness still smeared on his lips. She listened to the rain drumming on the rooftops and the sullen rumbles of the retreating storm as she licked herself off him– face, torso, flat belly with its deep navel-indent, all coated with her scent. He pleased her more and more. 

So pretty, and so very, very stupid.

*

When he woke again, she was ready with blood and cigarettes. He drank one and lit the other, after a dubious glance at her belly. "Not good for the spawn, is it?"

She let her fingers sidle lazily up his thigh. "Believe me, William – Spike, I mean, you wouldn't be doing anything I haven't tried myself."

His eyes widened, but then he shrugged. "Yeah, can imagine you're not too thrilled. Who's the dad, then? Must be someone right powerful to knock up a sodding vampire."

She thought of telling him just to see his face, but best not to spook him yet. "I didn't think you'd be interested. Babies were always Dru's thing, not yours."

He didn't react to the mention of Dru's name. Instead, he sat up, gazing at her appreciatively. "Was, but you look bloody amazing like this. Feel good too. Your tits are hard as rocks." She gasped as a fang delicately pierced her nipple. 

"Sorry." He licked the wound closed with a cold tongue, then flipped her onto her side. There was an urgency to it this time. He was more in control of himself. Probably, going by past experience, he expected her to throw him out on his ear soon, so he was getting it while he could.

Afterwards, they lay curled together, back to chest, his hands stroking her belly. A human might have liked it, but it drove her crazy. She hadn't asked for this, and she didn't want it, but she couldn't get rid of it no matter how she tried. How dare he get pleasure out of her humiliation, like the hellspawn belonged to him!

She shook her head at herself. _Focus, Darla. Focus._

Time to dangle the bait, and judging by his behaviour with the girl at the club, he'd be quick to rise for it. 

Taking his roving hand in hers, she twined their fingers together. 

"Tell me, Spike. Do you miss her?"

He went still. "Miss who?"

She frowned. Something about his reaction wasn't right. Glancing back at him over her shoulder, she saw his expression gone wary. "Who do you think? Dru, of course." She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "The woman you love?"

For a moment, his eyes went unfocused, as if he were elsewhere inside his head. 

"The woman I love," he said, softly, deliberately, as if testing the words. "Yeah, I miss her." He closed his eyes. "Every single moment of every single day, even though she didn't give a toss about me. Wish I'd died when she did."

"Died? Dru's not dead, unless you know something I don't. Last I heard, she was headed for Mexico."

His eyes blinked open. He looked caught out. "I didn't mean _dead_ dead. 'Course I didn't. I meant dead to me."

She stared, unconvinced. "Really?" 

But his face revealed exactly nothing, which wasn't like Spike at all. 

"Yeah, really."

She rolled over to face him. "But it must still hurt, right? Dru leaving you - knowing she cheated on you? Knowing that she ran back to daddy first chance she had?"

He shrugged. "'Course it does. Bitch! I hope she rots in hell."

She frowned again. Either he was a better actor than she'd thought, or…

But she had no choice now except to press on. "What if I told you I had the power to make you forget all about her?" 

He blinked again. "What the fuck're you on about?"

She bit down on her impatience. He always had been slow on the uptake. Forcing herself to smile at him, she reached down to where her purse lay on the floor, opened it and showed him the phial. 

"All that pain she caused you? The humiliation? I can make you forget it all. Forget she ever existed. You'll be free." 

He looked from the little glass phial in her palm to her face and back again. "What is it? Where'd you get it?"

Still with the endless questions! She allowed herself to show a touch of irritation this time. He knew her. He'd only be more suspicious if she stayed all sweetness and light. 

"From an acquaintance – a late acquaintance. I paid a high price for it, but not as high as he did."

He tilted his head. "Yeah? And it's…what? Some kind of amnesia potion?"

For answer, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. "That's right. But it doesn't make you forget everything, just the things you want to forget. You want to be free of the pain, don't you?"

His expression was still unreadable. "Maybe."

She made to open the phial. "Okay then –"

But he pushed her away. "Hold your fucking horses, love. This is great an' all, but what's in it for you? Somehow I have trouble believing you came half way around the world to offer me sweet oblivion out of the goodness of your dead black heart."

She let her shoulders slump. "You're right, of course."

His eyes narrowed. "The pathetic act doesn't suit you. Not very convincing either."

Not so stupid after all. She set her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "Maybe not, William, but I'm alone –" she glanced down at her belly – "I'm in big trouble, and I need your help." She smiled a lop-sided smile. "Everyone needs someone."

He sneered at her. "Got the wrong vampire, love. Angel's the one gets off on helping damsels in distress, not me." 

At mention of that name, the familiar rage, bitter as bile, rose in her throat.

She choked out a laugh. "Last time I saw Angel, he told me that if he ever saw me again he'd kill me. Of course, at the time, he didn't know he was going to be a father, but I'd rather not put it to the test." 

His jaw dropped. " _Angel's_ the father?"

"Of course." She opened her eyes wide. "Didn't I say?"

He stared, but then he shook his head. "That's impossible. Angel's a vampire."

" _I'm_ a vampire," she pointed out, indicating her swollen belly. "Yet here we are." 

His eyes had gone very cold. "So let me get this straight. Angel knocked you up. Then he threw you out on your ear. And now you're here, and you want me to…what exactly? Help you raise little Angel Junior so he'll be a credit to his dear old daddy?"

He might be slow, she thought, but he got there in the end. "Something like that. Think how much he'll hate it, Spike – you as father to his child? It'll kill him." _Oh, I hope so_. "His worst nightmare come true."

"There's that." His gaze became unfocused again as he considered it. Maybe she wouldn't need to waste the potion on him after all. Leaning forward, she nibbled his ear, making sure her breast brushed against his bare arm. "It'll make what Dru and he did to you look like nothing, William. Nothing at all." 

Silence. Then thunder grumbled again very far off, and he pushed her away from him. 

"Not interested. Find another idiot to do your dirty work for you." Turning his back on her, he fumbled another cigarette out of the open pack and lit it, blowing clouds of blue smoke into the room. 

After a moment, she said, "There _is_ no one else."

He sneered. "An' here I thought you were a dab hand at pickin' up men on street corners. Been doin' it long enough after all."

She clenched her fists hard in the stained sheets to prevent herself from slapping him. 

"Sticks and stones, William."

He blew more smoke through his nostrils and smirked at her. "Sorry, love. Low blow." 

She drew in a ragged breath. Who’d have thought he would be such hard work?

"Apology accepted. And surely I shouldn't have to explain myself any further? It has to be you. Of course it does. You're family. You have history with Angel. No one else could hurt him the way you can."

He stared at her, face once again inscrutable. She decided she preferred the old Spike – the one who'd worn his heart on his sleeve. Reaching out a tentative hand, she touched his shoulder. "I need you." 

He shrugged her off. "So you can stick it to Angel in the worst way possible. Yeah, you said. Told you, I'm not interested. Now fuck off and leave me alone."

She set her lips. Stowing the phial away in her purse, she stood up, letting the sheets fall away from her naked body in all its loathsome ripeness. "All right, William. I was offering a fair exchange for your help, I thought – release from memories that must just eat you up inside."

Suddenly, he'd grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back onto the bed, his fanged mouth inches from her ear. "That's Spike, you bitch! What the fuck do you know anyway?" 

She vamped out in turn and rounded on him.

"I know Angel cuckolded you –again. Made you look a fool. But I guess if you'd rather wallow in it, that's up to you."

They snarled at each other, but he looked away first. Releasing her, he went back into human face, stood up, and shimmied into his artfully torn jeans. "Fuck this!" he muttered. "Gonna get bladdered. Forget about you – forget about this crap."

As he made for the door, she barred his way. "Why, when you can just drink the potion and forget about it for real?" 

He made to push past her, but she held him back. "When Dru and I were together, she never mentioned your name once, did you know that? All she could think about was daddy, daddy, daddy. Angel took her from you. This is your chance to take something from him. Don’t you get that?"

He was breathing hard. "Like I give a toss," he growled. But he wouldn't meet her eyes. 

She stood her ground. No way she was letting him slip through her fingers now. 

"I can't believe you'd just give up like this? That's not the Spike I remember."

He blustered. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think." 

"Seems not," she agreed. "The Spike I knew wasn't spineless. He'd never have run away from his troubles the way you have. He'd spit in their eye and fight back."

He laughed the ghost of a laugh. "Yeah well, he was a stupid wanker, wasn't he?"

"Maybe, but he kept his promises."

He went white as a sheet at that and had to steady himself against the wall. She must have struck a nerve. 

"What the fuck do you know about promises?" he hissed. His voice was actually shaking. 

It struck her all over again how very gaunt he was – a shadow of his former self. God, men were pathetic!

"William," she said, softly. "You're in pain. Let me help you."

For a long moment, he stared at her, wild-eyed. Then suddenly – shockingly – he was on his knees at her feet, face pressed to her belly. She could feel moisture on her bare skin. 

"Don't care about Angel," he mouthed against her. "Don't care about that shit. None of it matters 'cos she's gone. Forever. Because I failed – because I broke my fucking promise." His voice trailed off. "I'll do whatever you want, all right? I don't want to remember. Take it all away." 

She cupped his chin in her palm and raised it. "I will."

Something was very wrong here. But she knew from the way his body sagged against hers that she had him at last. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

*

"What will it feel like?" His eyes clung to her face as she opened the phial.

"I don't know." She held the little vessel up to the light. The contents were green and thick, like poison. "And by the time you wake up, neither will you." She stroked his white hair back from his brow. "Just relax, William. It'll all be over soon."

He licked his lips. "I won't remember anything? You sure?"

She lay down beside him, stroked his face with her hand. "Not a thing. Everything you want to forget, you will forget, I swear. You wanna forget this conversation? It's done."

His Adam's apple jerked in his throat. "Fuck," he said, softly. For a moment, she thought he was going to change his mind. Then he snatched the phial from her hand and downed the contents in one. He grimaced. "Tastes bloody awful!"

After five minutes or so, he said, "Don't feel any different. Can still remember everything."

She rolled her eyes. He'd always been impatient too. "Give it time, William." 

"Just so you know," he went on, "I'm not changin' any sodding nappies, an' once the kid's old enough to hate its real dad like it should, I'm out of there."

"Fair enough." She'd been planning to get rid of him anyway, once he'd served his purpose.

When he opened his mouth to speak again, she took his hand and set it on her breast to distract him. He was quick to take the hint. His tongue was coated with bitterness, but she ground her mouth against his eagerly. So what if she ingested a little of the potion? There were things she wanted to forget too – a stake through the heart for instance, and the contempt in Angel's eyes when he looked at her. 

She was astride him when the spell finally began to work, riding him with a slow, wet undulation of hips, while his palms cupped and squeezed her breasts. His pupils dilated again, his hands fell away. A moment later, he began to babble. 

She'd expected this. He was reliving the memories that were leaving him. He'd gone soft inside her too, so she lifted herself off him and lay down next to him to watch the show, propping her head on her elbow.

"Welcome to Sunnydale," he said, with a half-sneer on his lips. "Fucking joke, that is. Mind you, the Slayer isn't half tasty."

She snorted with disgust. "Angel thought so too. I don't get the attraction of chubby little cheerleaders myself, except as after dinner snacks."

He didn't hear her, lost in his memories. "Wish I'd never come here," he growled. "Had to put out for him, didn't she, and now daddy's back and everything's ruined. All _her_ fault. Slayer bitch!"

"Got that right." She was flipping desultorily through a magazine by this time, but she'd read it before. Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long or she'd be reduced to reading the Gideon bible.

"You're _not_ friends," he said, suddenly, voice gone strangely solemn. "You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends." His head tossed on the pillow. "She said we could still be friends. God, I'm so unhappy."

She frowned and turned over another page of her magazine. So this fall's in-colours were chocolate, cream and rust. How original. 

"Don't!" he shouted suddenly. "I'll do what you say! I'll do anything! Don't put that thing in my head!" 

What on earth was he talking about now, she wondered? Not that it mattered. Either way, she was bored. Picking up the TV remote, she frowned at the dried blood on it, frowned again at the faint whiff of decay emanating from the body in the corner. How much longer would this take?

She watched some inane chat show, while he continued to spew his nonsense, a babble of sound she couldn't be bothered to listen to. But suddenly he sobbed so loudly she almost jumped out of her skin. 

When she clicked the TV off and looked down at him, his face had gone hollow, flesh sunk into the cavities of bone, lips drawn back from his teeth in an agonised rictus, while tears poured down his cheeks.

"Wasn't fast enough, wasn't clever enough," he moaned. "She fell like a stone. Please, please! Don't let her be dead." 

She stared. What was this? 

His body writhed on the bed. His head tossed from side to side, while tearing sobs exploded from his chest. He opened his mouth to speak again. She caught her breath. 

Somehow she knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. 

"Buffy," he half-moaned, half-pleaded, as if praying to some deity, "Slayer, please don't die. Don't fucking leave me. I love you. I love you so much." 

For a moment, she couldn't process what she was hearing. She found herself thinking, _well, that explains the blonde back at the club_. 

But then a wave of fury washed over her, like nothing she'd felt since she faced Angel and his Slayer bitch all those years ago and felt the cold pain of the stake piercing her heart. 

"You bloody little fool. You bastard. Not her. Not you too." 

Her nails raked his chest, leaving ridged wounds like harrow marks. "What is it about her?" she screamed in his face. "What _is_ it?"

But he didn't hear her. He sobbed, throwing himself this way and that on the bed, like a madman in a fit, his words once more meaningless babble. 

"Made a promise to a lady," he wailed. "'Bit, please. Don't look at me like that. I tried. I really did." Then, in a vicious hiss, "Fuck you, then. Fuck all of you. I'm off." 

Her temper cooled. She stared down at him with contempt. No wonder Dru had left him. He deserved it – deserved every petty humiliation heaped on his head before she went. For a moment, she considered walking out too– leaving him to wake alone and disoriented, with parts of his mind missing and no clue why. 

But better sense prevailed. Not everything she'd told him had been a lie and her resources were limited. She really did need him.

Lying down again beside him, she flung an arm across his heaving belly, listening as his sobs turned to whimpers and faded into silence. At least the Slayer was dead, and now, for him, not even a memory. 

A victory of sorts. 

Daylight was seeping through the drawn blinds. She watched a finger of grey watery light creep across the room, listened to the increasing hum of traffic in the road outside, felt the intimate stirring of the parasite in her belly, re-thought her strategy. 

Of course, she would have to wait and see what else he'd chosen to forget before finalising anything, but it didn't hurt to plan ahead.

*

"What d'you mean it's mine?" He'd drawn the sheet up to his chin and was staring at her with scared eyes, like a hunted rabbit.

She kept her gaze steady on his face. "I know it's hard to take in, but it's the truth, Spike. Believe me."

He shook his head. "But," he repeated for the tenth time, "we're vampires. It's not possible. 'Sides, weren't you dead? If I’d had sex with you some time in the last year I'm bloody sure I'd remember it."

She let her hands drop to cradle her infested belly. "Would you? You've been doing a lot of drugs lately."

He blinked. "I have?" Then he looked defensive. "Even if I have, so what? None of your fucking business."

"Oh but it is." She gave him a sorrowful look. "How much of the last year _do_ you remember? Think about it."

"We've been over an' over this already," he protested, but she wagged an admonitory finger at him.

"Tell me again."

His eyes never left hers. She'd seen that look before on so many victims' faces, prey trying to outstare the predator until it lost interest and slunk away. Of course, it never worked.

"Dru'n me were in Prague," he said, at last. "She was sick. Took her to the Hellmouth to find a cure. Angelus was there. He'd turned traitor – got himself a soul and gone over to the white hats - called himself Angel, as if that made him any less of a wanker."

She managed to keep a straight face. "And after that?"

"He lost his soul again – dunno how, bloody careless of him – came poncin' back and turned Dru's head with the usual airy fairy bollocks." His mouth turned down at the corners. "She left me, the ungrateful bitch, an' he got his soul back again an' went off to LA – set up as some kind of private dick." He sneered. "Private dickhead, more like."

She allowed herself a small smile this time. "And after that?"

"After that…." His voice trailed off. He looked very scared. "Don't remember anything."

"What did I tell you?" She shook her head sadly. "Just because you're immortal doesn't mean human drugs can't affect you."

He tried to sneer again, but subsided into whining. "My head hurts." 

She smoothed a palm over the convex curve of her belly, smiling to herself when his eyes followed the movement, as if mesmerised. "Well, don't expect any sympathy from me. This would never have happened to you if you hadn't gotten cold feet at the thought of impending fatherhood and run off home with your tail between your legs."

His eyes opened even wider. "I did?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're in London, aren't we?"

He glared, then tilted his head, attempting bluster again. "So what? That still doesn't explain the bun in the sodding vampire oven. You _sure_ you haven't just got fat?"

She clicked her tongue in reproof. "Don't be crude. There was a prophecy, but I suppose you don't remember that either."

"I …" he began, but she cut him off. 

"Of course you don't. You took the coward's way out like always – ran away and drowned yourself in liquor. And now you're trying to shirk your responsibilities to your own child and its mother. No way, William. No way."

"But it doesn't make sense," he wailed. "Why me, for fuck's sake? This prophecy crap sounds like Angel's thing, not mine. Besides, you don't even like me."

She seized on the opening he'd given her. "You're right. It _is_ Angel's thing. He thinks having a soul makes him so special. Think how pissed he's gonna be when he finds out." She grabbed his hand and set it on her belly. "You've outdone him, William. Once and for all. No way he can top this."

As luck would have it, her unwanted guest chose that moment to make its presence felt, squirming and kicking inside her so strongly he couldn't help but feel it. He flinched, but she held on tightly and after a moment he went slack-jawed with wonder. 

"Fuck," he said. "It's real."

"Oh yes, very real." It didn't surprise her when he leaned over and set his ear to her belly, one palm cradling it with surprising gentleness, as if to feel its heft. She gritted her teeth and breathed through it. 

At last, he looked up and she saw the exact moment when doubt and fear fell away, to be replaced by smug pride in his own potency. 

"You're right," he said. "Me fathering a kid, and with you, of all people? Angel'll do his fucking nut."

"I hope so, William. I hope so." 

She lay down beside him and, after a brief hesitation he put his arm around her and drew her close. When she felt a proprietary hand begin to fondle her belly, she hid her smile of triumph in his shoulder. Bizarre to think that she had the Slayer to thank for it. 

He pulled her closer, his roaming hand sliding down to feel between her legs. 

"Gonna take good care of you," he hissed in her ear. "Gonna take good care of both of you. You'll see. Keep my promises, specially to ladies."

Her hidden smile grew broader. "I know you will." 

Let him have his little moment, she thought. It would only make this part of her revenge – sideshow to the main event -all the sweeter when he found out what a fool she'd made of him. 

Now, if the child would only resemble its father. 

One or the other of them. Which, it really didn't matter.


End file.
